


Say I Love You While You Can

by mythicdork



Series: Superhero Love isn't Perfect? More Likely Than You Think. [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: End Game Spoilers, M/M, Worlds Collide Lore, post-end game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 02:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythicdork/pseuds/mythicdork
Summary: Bruce Wayne, orphan who lost a child of his own and now a widower. Perhaps he should be used to it, but either way, he has work to do. No time to focused on what is lost, perhaps if he is busy he won't need to think about it. But there is no escape, not this soon.





	Say I Love You While You Can

Bruce was quite familiar with grief; some would say that he was nearly on a first name basis with Grief. It was a fact of his life, and this fact was something he never truly escaped. Yet, he somehow kept getting surprised.

Tony was a man full of life. A man that seemed to glow from the inside. A battered man all the same, but one that never seemed to be down and out. Bruce should have moved faster, should have known more, should have done a thousand things all the same. Anything, he should have done _anything_ that would have saved Tony. The world needed Tony Stark, his children needed Tony Stark, _he_ needed Tony Stark.

But in the end, he couldn’t let Tony slip through his fingers with the last thing he saw being his husband crying over another loss. Tony had saved the world. Had saved them all. Whether or not that was fair or right or just meant little. He ripped back his cowl, in the middle of the field, surrounded by heroes. He bit back his tears and crowded in, whispering sweet words, gentle thanks. He couldn’t break down. Not yet. His world had narrowed in, locked on Tony’s burnt face, on the on coming vacancy in his eyes.

“You saved us, you’re a hero, Tony. _Fe_, honey, I love you.” _I love you, I love you, I love you_. Chanted like a prayer. Even as Bruce let himself shift sideways to give others their time to speak with Tony in these last heartbeats, he couldn’t stop repeating it. His throat clogging, the words rasping out slowly. He couldn’t breathe but he wouldn’t shatter. He kept a hand on Tony’s, clinging even as he slipped away. Bruce knew all eyes were on them.

His children were around them, each quiet, each unsure of how to proceed. Bruce stood as all around them stayed still. He would _not_ let this define him. Even as his knees shake, he stood tall.

_Why did it have to be him_? _Why not me? Why not anyone else? Why him? Why him? Why him?_

He clears his throat instinctively, rolling his shoulders awkwardly. “We need to get him home.” The battle was won, they survived. No celebration, no party, no dinner afterwards. Not yet, not yet. Bruce’s eyes were vacant, lost in some middle distance, his gaze fully exposed. A man, no myth, no legend, a man who had his heart ripped from him.

A portal opened behind him, he gave a half nod to Stephen without really looking at him. He looked down at his husband once more and a gentle hand touched his elbow. _Clark_. Always one to help. Bruce gave a nod of consent, jaw locked. Bruce was sure that removing the suit right now would cause more pain than necessary. Moving him to home to be handled was for the best. It could be handled.

Bruce needed to get to work.

* * *

The funeral was a quiet affair, one that left Bruce with a hole in his chest. He didn’t cry loudly; tears fell but he would not crumble. Not when so many others needed him. He cared for his children, welcomed many of Tony’s mentees into their family, promised to be around and willing to care. He gave more hugs than he knew he could manage. He spoke to each hero that wished to and eased many apologies.

He had lost so much, but he would not lose this. He would not break before the masses and let them pity him. Even if his actions led to Clark raising his voice at him in the privacy of a back room. He wouldn’t “shake out of it”. He knew people were waiting, looking for him to lash out. But he had to be present. He would wait until he was alone to let anything happen.

Tony had been the one to see Bruce’s emotions, Tony had been the one to draw them forward, and now… Bruce needed to handle it personally. He wished everyone safe travels as they left and reminded them he is here if they need.

He could only hope they would need him soon; he couldn’t face this abyss alone. Not like this.

After the funeral, Bruce discovered quickly that he could no longer sleep well alone. Perhaps he never had been good at it in the first place, but he knew for sure now that he was not equipped to do so alone.

The tabloids were respectful for all of one afternoon, not even a full day. Within that day pictures were strewn about. Be it family photos, random snapshots, or even that picture taken that fateful day all those decades ago. Bruce’s name, his family, called cursed. The orphan turned parent who lost a child turned widow. He was called the Angel of Death, beautiful but damned.

Bruce hadn’t even been the one to see the headlines.

He didn’t feel much energy to look at papers. Not when each one held Tony’s face. The face he would never see smile again, the face that would never light up with knowledge, the face that would never warm after a gentle kiss.

He would get up, do all the chores, deal with any guests that wanted to check in on him. He was a perfect host, he never teared up, never missed a beat. He would have made Alfred proud, aside from the fact that he was burying his emotions at all which Alfred always tried to get him out of.

The only issue was nights, or rather everything was an issue, but he couldn’t push it away at night. He couldn’t _ignore_ the problem, he had nothing to focus on. His cowl was hung until the League had cleared him. Something about mandatory grieving time. Clark Kent bullshit more like.

He would notice in the quiet of the house. After helping Mia get to bed, he would be left with nothing. No hum of holograms, no out loud thinking, no soft humming. He would find Tony’s chair neatly tucked in, instead of strewn sideways and filled. He would walk up the same staircase without gentle hands at his sides, with sneaking croons in his ear. He would get to their bedroom with the bed fully made and unrustled.

The bathroom was an efficient affair, brushed teeth, contacts out, face washed and then bed. One side remained firmly tucked in and Bruce was left cold between the sheets, staring at their blank ceiling.

Bruce wasn’t the cuddler of their relationship, at least he never believed so, but he missed dearly having someone to turn to his side and wrap around. He missed Tony’s tired voice mumbling _I love you_. Missed the sweet kisses before he drifted away. Missed the half screech if Bruce placed his feet against Tony’s warm calves.

In the quiet of their bedroom with no one to watch, Bruce broke. Tears poured down his cheeks. He shook helplessly, curled toward the center of the bed, toward the endlessly empty side. He cracked and crumbled and felt endlessly alone.

No longer Batman: fearless leader and myth, nor Bruce Wayne: caring father and rock. No, he was Bruce, he was Bats, he was _handsome, honey, sweetie, cutie, gorgeous, love of my life, light of my world_. He was a husband turned widower. He was shattered to pieces.

He was the man fate had decided to rip the soul from.

He covered his face and not for the first time Wished it had been him instead.

If Tony loved him so dearly, why would he leave? Because they both knew that the world was the end goal, that the next generation was more important. Because Tony Stark was a hero, and it was his best and worst quality.

He just wished for one more day, one more chance, one more _I Love You_. God, he never said it enough. And now it was too late to fix that wrong with Tony.

But he would be more. He would be better. For everyone else.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes a sad song comes on and you realize you never wrote anything for End Game. If you guys have any questions, comments, or concerns, let me know. Sometimes you just need to cry you know?


End file.
